All That Glitters is Always Gold
by TheTheatreGroupie
Summary: Reflections on Columbia during the party, Magenta’s POV. Sort of goes with my other story, I guess.


All That Glitters is Always Gold  
  
By: TheTheatreGroupie  
  
Rating: PG, surprisingly  
  
Genre: General (cause I can't decide what it should be)  
  
Summary: Reflections on Columbia during the party, Magenta's POV. Sort of goes with my other story, sort of doesn't.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I don't even own the DVD yet.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In a way I feel bad for her. She's still living under the pretense he loves her. Oh, she knows he doesn't, of course, but she just likes to imagine he does. She says it makes her feel better. I suppose I don't mind her stubbornness. It keeps her around. She's a rush of Technicolor to the black and white world I've been living in, a relief to the monotony. It's a nice change, having another girl around, a 'gal pal' as she would say, a friend. I hate to see her get her fragile heart broken, especially by such a monster as Frank, especially since he's been so busy creating the perfect man (with tremendous help from my brother Riff-Raff). I can't stand seeing her like this, artificially effervescent and full of false sanguinity.  
  
Watching her glittering on her jukebox during the party, the party for Frank's creation - her replacement - I feel almost apologetic towards her. I wish I could make her get some common sense and realize how ridiculous she's being. She simply will not give up. She won't just let it be and move on. She has no perception of reality, that's certain. She's acting so bubbly tonight, making empty romantic advances on the guests of the party and singing along to all of the songs from her perch on that jukebox. She's trying so hard to act like nothing is wrong, as always. She seems as if she's happy, oh, yes, untroubled and living life just because she can.  
  
But she is not dancing. She always dances, especially at the parties. I can't say I much enjoy listening to her tap shoes clicking on the hardwood floor of the ballroom. But if I can manage to ignore the repetitive, ceaseless tapping noises... oh, she is compelling to watch. She looks sincerely happy when she dances. Her sparkling, slender figure twirling across the dance floor is enough to send anyone over the edge, if you ask me. She radiates such a feeling of carefree abandon and utter exuberance it's a wonder she doesn't have people throwing themselves at her day and night.  
  
Of course, there are the selected few. Eddie. He's been besotted with her since the day he brought her here. Heaven only knows why he did that. He'd made enough 'deliveries' here, been to enough parties here, to know what happens to girls when they meet Frank. But still the lovesick imbecile brought her here, and certainly, she did fall to Frank's feet almost immediately. It was to be predicted. So many girls have I seen make the same mistake: fall head over heels in love with Frank, just to be thrown out in a week or two like a child's broken toy. Frank is certainly childish sometimes. He never grew out of that way of thought all children have that the world revolves around them. Indeed, he still expects everyone and everything to bend to his exact will.  
  
She always was prepared to bend to his will. She was fine with it. I think, in part, this is why he kept her on longer than any of the other girls. They all eventually tired of being at his beck and call. But she would do anything just to keep in his favor. She wanted - wants - so desperately to be with him and for him to be with her, she would literally do anything he asked of her. Except, of course, to leave. I'm grateful he never just directly said, "Leave" to her face. Oh, he implied it many times, but he was always just tactful enough to spare her heart that final crack that would shatter it to infinitesimal shards. Nobody needs that sort of pain infiltrating their heart.  
  
Countless times she's confided in me, knowing I won't tell her little secrets, whatever they may be. Mostly it's about her lovers; Frank, or Eddie. But she'll tell me other things too, just whatever might be on her mind. She'll never tell where she came from, or who she used to be. I remember the first time I met her, it must have been more than a year ago, she was so timid and withdrawn. Oh, how it has changed since then.  
  
I can't say I liked her at first. She changed herself so dramatically within the time she arrived and the next time any of us really saw her, I couldn't be sure which version of her was the real one. And all the shimmer, sparkle, glitter that seemed to coat her, personality wise and visually, it was a bit maddening. She never seemed to feel unhappy, never seemed to fall. Being rather melancholic by nature myself, her cheerful nature rather got to me. Thinking about it, the first time she probably seemed real to me is when I saw her cry. At the time I was almost glad to see her disheartened, but watching her sob into her pillow, her heart splintering to pieces, I felt sympathetic towards her, something I cannot say I have felt towards most people since I can clearly remember.  
  
So we became friends, companions, confidantes. Sometimes she would help me with the housework, chattering away all the while. It eased the tedium, having another girl around to talk to, although it must be admitted that I didn't always listen as she gossiped on about hardly anything. For the most part, I tried to pay attention to her, though, even sharing a secret of my own every now and then if I could get a word in between her constant chitchat. So often did she talk about Frank, so often about Eddie.  
  
Of course, she mentioned other things occasionally; of those things, she must have talked about dancing the most. This was the one part of her clouded past she would deign to share with me. She said she had been taking tap dance classes since she was eight and was completely in love with it. That dancing 'took her cares away'. That when she danced, especially at the parties here, 'people would watch her'. I can't deny that they didn't; I was among those watching. To some extent, I still am. Even when she was feeling so heart-numbingly depressed, she would dance. Watching her transform from vacant actions to genuine blissful tapping was something to behold.  
  
And it worries me that she's not dancing tonight. Animated though she may be, it's all false. She knows she can get away from her troubles if she pretends they don't exist. By the same token she knows that nobody will be able to tell the difference between authenticity and unreality. She flirts, she sings, she acts more bodacious than I've ever seen her, but none of it is real. She's trying to mask her pain. She's doing a good job, really. I doubt she knows I've been watching her throughout the evening as she croons away on her jukebox, glittering golden in that top hat and coat she loves so much. She's always preoccupied with a thousand other things during these parties: the music, the people, and most certainly the dancing. She doesn't seem to have time to worry about anything, even think about anything beyond the small realm of her elaborate fantasies.  
  
She glitters all through the party, never once getting off of her jukebox to dance. I don't think I've even seen her get off to get a glass of the red wine punch she's so fond of or a little truffle or anything. She has not gotten off that jukebox since the guests started arriving. I've noticed some of them trying to get her to dance with them, first or second time guests I'm betting, guests who are so enthralled with her sparkling radiant aura, guests who haven't really met her. There's more to that girl than just sparkles and flirting and dancing, though you could never tell by looking at her.  
  
Towards the end of the party, something unusual happens. Two people, a male and a female, show up at the door asking to use the telephone. Coincidentally, it's almost time for the last song of the party, the Time Warp. Even my brother Riff-Raff and I join in on this song. He and I escort the couple into the ballroom, clearly frightening them to no end. Oh... I can see Columbia watching with some interest from the corner of my eye as I open my mouth, saying whatever happens to spill from my lips. "It's so dreamy, oh, fantasy free me, so you can't see me, no, not at all. In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention, well secluded, I see all." The couple looks at each other in confusion as Riff-Raff and I keep speaking, trading enticing remarks with each other.  
  
As the couple backs away with caution, he and I dance to where she sits on that jukebox, looking sincerely eager to participate in the night's events, more eager than she has looked in weeks. She sings, lyrics I've never heard her sing before, and it occurs to me she must be inventing them right then and there just as I was a moment ago. "Well, I was walkin' down the street, just a-havin' a think, when a snake of a guy gave me an evil wink." She shakes her torso slightly as she continues. "He shook-a me up, he took me by surprise." She runs a hand past her face and smiles. "He had a pickup truck and the devil's eyes." She's grinning, and I know exactly who she's singing about. "He stared at me, and I felt a change-" she takes her top hat off of her head and twirls it between her fingers "Time meant nothin' ever would again."  
  
Oh, what a relief it is to see her acting like herself again. After the next chorus, the guests are beckoning to her to dance. To my great surprise, she slides off of her jukebox with a squeal, and tap-tap-tapping, she dances, the spotlight on her. I let out a low "Ohhhhh." as she continues to dance. She holds her top hat in one hand as she twirls, spinning so her coattails fly out behind her and her perfectly coiffed hair moves just a little bit. Everything is going so well when suddenly, she falls. Inwardly, I groan; that fall is going to hurt her pride a lot more than anything else.  
  
But instead of scrambling back on top of that jukebox like I expect her to, she joins the rest of us as we repeat the chorus again, a smile plastered on her face. She's upset the spotlight left her. She wishes she could have made more of it. Sometimes I can read her mind, and right now she wants nothing more than just to be in the spotlight. She always has that chance till Frank arrives, and he still hasn't come through the elevator, prepared to announce that his creation, his perfect man, is ready to be born. She has the spotlight, whether she knows it or not. She stands out amongst the crowd with her sparkling attitude and attire. Oh, even if it won't last for long (and, knowing the way things have been going lately, it won't) it's good to have the vivacious, cheerful, glittering gold Columbia back. 


End file.
